Qeya River I was following the pack

Finally home, he feels as though he can finally breathe once again. He can go back to his lake, back to his endless thoughts.

Lately his head has been far too clear; he can't stand it. It makes it difficult to grasp his visions, to sit still without a sense of paranoia overtaking him.

With a breath let go, his decision is made.

Soon he will travel to the coast. The herbs that the old man's strangely close friend used to treat him, he needs to find them again. Nothing else can make him feel this way.

He wants to take them again, to be able to serve Saatsine as their ghost talker with full confidence.

blackfell hadn't yet seen this wolf. he had thought he had familiarized himself with most of the faces thus far—apparently he was wrong.

from where he was seated at the edge of the winding, frigid river, he watches as the yearling moves closer into the territory. his rounded ears twitching, swiveling towards the sound of crunching pawsteps; nostrils flaring as he sniffs at his scent carried on the winter wind.

curious.

he doesn't approach, doesn't say anything, but he is staring.

There are eyes on him, and yet his gaze is unmoving from the path ahead. He will reach his lake, and there he will rest.

The encouragement of Sun Eater has left him with a sense of self-importance that while it was certainly there before, now allows him to walk without caution. He understands from the words spoken by the Chieftain that he is sacred; it is for this reason that Kekoa is thoroughly determined to serve his purpose to the best of his ability.

At times he still fears the vision he had before they left to follow the caribou, of the storms and of the gold-plated wolf who followed them. But surely now they are safe, for they have returned without calamities faced.

he follows him.

then, blackfell stops at the water’s edge, lowering head to drink. the yearling is saatsine, by scent, but no name comes to mind—obviously, since blackfell hasn't met him yet.

he watches for a moment, sizing him up. lean, but not frail. something distant about his gaze, like he's halfway between this world and another.

the raven perched above caws loudly, wings rustling in irritation at the silence. blackfell huffs. he steps forward and begins to kick dirt back at the annoying bird.

It follows. Kekoa eyes the man with a furrowed brow - his default expression, really.

Laying with paws tucked under himself, his tail curls around his body like a protective shield from the cold weather. There's no sense in harassing the thing. He had been pecked at enough times to know that.

The occasional caw was far better than angry squawks. If he was to travel to the coast, he would prefer to rest promptly - an enraged raven was no good for those who wished to rest.

the boy speaks.

his words fall on deaf ears, momentarily, as blackfell turns on the raven and watches as it taunts him. perching itself up high in a dying branch. blackfell responds with the curl of his nose and then finally rests crimson eyes on the saatsine wolf.

it harasses me. he points out with the faintest twitch of ears, stepping over the small creek that flows before them. day and night.

it caws loudly then.

He complains of the bird. Kekoa finds it rather silly. They remember the faces of those who insult them. Perhaps it was taking revenge, perhaps it really was just an annoying bird. It was not his problem to solve. Feed it something, maybe it will stop. It keeps tired wolves awake when it's riled up like this, though.

He rose to his feet, shaking the snow from his fur before taking his exit. It seemed that if he wished to sleep it would be better to distance himself from this man. When he was well rested maybe he would take the time to speak with him properly.

Exit Kekoa